III. All I Wanna Do
I woke up to the smell of bacon and coffee. We may have been at the beach, but the traditional southern breakfast was still the norm.
“We’re all going to the beach,” Sia told me as I walked out of my room.
“Swell,” I replied as Sia’s friend, Kat, ran past the both us to one of the bathrooms.
“You are coming, right?”
I sort of shrugged my shoulders and nodded in reply and then walked to the dining area.
“Where’s dad?” I asked as Mom stacked several pieces of bacon and a biscuit onto a plate for me.
“He’s looking into renting a jet ski.”
“Dad? On a jet ski?” I asked as mom handed me a cup of coffee.
“Make sure you get a good video of it.”
“I’ll post it on my Instagram!” Serena yelled from down the hall.
“Seriously?” I asked as I tried to not think of my father and mother on a jet ski. Going, maybe fifteen miles an hour and losing his sunglasses in the water.
“Yes,” mom said. “I said we should do a dolphin cruise. Here, eat. You’re supposed to go with the girls to the beach.”
“But you really don’t have to!” Serena barked.
“Saying that means I have to. It’s kind of the ‘brother code’ kind of thing.”
“Puz-lease,” my sister replied with a scoff.
Mom nodded at me.
“Come on, I want to have some fun on the beach before I die!” Serena said as she appeared from the hall with Ally. They both wear long t-shirts that hid their suits—or what was passed as suits, barely. They also had backpacks full of stuff; water bottles and some beach gear most likely.
“You’re sixteen.”
“Yeah, how old are you and you look like you’re dead already.”
“This is just from our Irish roots.”
“No it’s because you never go out into the sun. It’s like you’re a vampire.”
“Just wait.” I replied as I took a sip of coffee.

Fifteen minutes later I took up the rear as the five of us walked to the beach. I only brought a towel and my sunglasses so every one, except for Ally, demanded that tI Cary their stuff. She took the time to ask me, and I said: “sure, no problem.”
And they left me in the dust, or sand, as they ran ahead to the shoreline.
“Where do I put all of this stuff?”
“Find a spot!” Serena shouted back.
“I can do a lot with that phrase!” I so wanted to chuck everything to ground—except for my towel—and keep on going, but instead,I like a dutiful brother and son, brought everything to the deck chairs that we reserved.
The chairs were next to a another group of girls and I tried to avoid looking at them too much while trying to not make a mess of all of my sisters’ stuff.
I wasn’t successful, as a bag fell down and spilled onto the sand. I moved to the other side and scooped the suntan lotion, water and what looked like some kind of dress back into the bag.
The girl in the chair next to me didn’t care that I looked like Godzilla stomping Tokyo into oblivion: she was deep into a book she was reading.
I looked at the cover: Springtime Serenade.
I felt a rush of fear which segued into euphoria and then into a subtle calm.
“Hello,” I said as I took off my sunglasses.
She took her eyes off of the book and looked at me with a small smile. “Hi.”
“Sorry, but can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so,” she asked as she squinted her eyes at me. She had light red hair that draped lightly over a long shirt.
“Do you like that book?”
“Oh, I love it. I’ve read it about five times now. There are times I absolutely hate it.”
“How so?”
“It’s like what I think true love should be like. But, it’s not, and I’m like, wanting that guy to come up from down the road, walking up only to me; even after everything that’s happened.”
“Is a there a change you’d make to it, if you could ask the author?”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, what would you tell him?”

I admit, that at that moment, she could say she wanted all of my characters to die a violent, fiery death and I wouldn’t have cared.

“That he needs to open up to people. It’s written so brightly I feel like he’s stuck in some tower or house and doesn’t get out much.”
“You’re not too far from the truth. Spencer Logan.”
“Skye Daniels.”
“Skye with a “y” or an “e”?”
“Both. So, you’re the same Spencer who wrote this?”
“In the pasty white flesh, yes.”
“Do you talk to all of your readers like this?”
“Barely.”
“So, why did you ask me?”
“Just thought I would, you know?”
“Sit down. I feel like I should ask you for an ID or something but, instead: do you have control over who they pick for the characters, so we’re not going to have Shailene Woodley as Becky?”
“Yeah, well, like John Greene, I don’t have control over the stars. Who do you have in mind?”
“Nicole Maines. She’s the perfect fit for Rebecca. I’ll have to show her to you.”
“A friend of yours?”
“I wish.”